Saturday, February 26, 2011

IKEA - Swedish for Hell

Picture it - a lovely Saturday morning.  I thought it would be a fun family activity to run up to the local IKEA to pick up a bookshelf for V's room.  So, snack and sippy cup in hand, we loaded up the fam and made the 30 minute journey to what from now on will be known as s*tan's lair.

The trip started out well.  V got to ride up the escalator and fun was had by all.  In about 10 minutes time we found what we were looking for, snapped a picture of the label, which "innocently" directed us to the Furniture Self Serve Section and off we went searching for said corner of this giant God-forsaken place. 

OMG!  This store does not end!  It's a huge, never-ending maze, that leads directly to s*tan himself.  It was all fun and games at first.  We even walked by the children's section where V got to play for a bit and we picked up some decorative flowers for Sissy's room.  Then we decided to get lunch, as it was that time.  The one time I didn't grab my diaper bag out of the car, the ONE time, I had to get ribs!  Ribs are sticky and messy!  Very messy.  And this place had zero wet wipes.  After dipping napkins in water to wipe off both mine and V's mess, we were ready to get out.  Except we still had not found this ever-elusive Furniture Self Service.  The signs just kept pointing this way and that way and we just kept walking and walking .  Finally, we made our way downstairs, where MORE mazes and MORE walking ensued!  At this point, I'm ready to say screw it - V doesn't really need a bookshelf in her room.  We'll just pile all her crap on the floor.  

Then, we finally see one of the worker demons.  I ask where the self service furniture pick up is and she dares to tell me I have to have the exact isle number of the furniture location which I have to get from the red sticker on the furniture piece I had picked out.  It was then that E thought I was going to lay her out right there.  I contemplated it, but instead, with a crazed look and a quiver in my voice told her I would take my chances.  She warned me that there may not be anyone in the warehouse, as she called it, to help me.  I told her I'd take my chances.

As we continue to work our way through the labyrinth of death, I see another fallen soul who's condemned to work in this hell hole.  He must've sensed that I was a woman on the brink of a nervous breakdown and before I could even finish the question, showed me the shortcut to this furniture warehouse. 

As we arrive at the furniture self-serve, the heavens open up and the piece we're looking for is right in front of us, assembled, with its disassembled boxes immediately behind it.  Hallelujah!!!

Finally, FINALLY, we make it out of that place.  But the nightmare doesn't end.  The boxes DON'T FIT IN MY CROSSOVER SUV!  NOOOO!!!!

E is tempted to just leave them there - forget returning them - we're not going back in intentionally knowing what we know now. 

We fight through it though.  We move the car seat over to the side, which is no small task, and put down the other two seats to make everything fit.  At which point, we get the heck out of there and never turn back.

After about 20 minutes, E's breathing stabilizes and his eye twitch goes away.  He says that if this doesn't work for V's room, he's not returning it - we're going to have a ceremonial burning of it in the backyard.  Screw the money.

As we pull into our garage and take V out of the car, she throws up.  All over my hands.

Now we have to put this thing together... Wish us luck.

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